


Chicken Lips

by dreyars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, lots of kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6238927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreyars/pseuds/dreyars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamamoto was a chicken.</p>
<p>A big, fat chicken.</p>
<p>He had no right to call himself a cat anymore.  Couldn’t even fake it and pretend to be a crow or an owl or anything else.  He couldn’t even claim with pride that he was a rooster to at least preserve that tiny little scrap of masculinity he had been clinging too.</p>
<p>No, he was a chicken.  Because he couldn’t even kiss his own boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Lips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pomme (manta)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manta/gifts).



> Another submission for the @hqrarepairexchange! Winny ( @pommetree ), I really hope you enjoy your gift! As soon as I saw ToraFuku on the top of your ship list, I knew I had to write this for you. I hope this was worth the wait, my dear!

He was a chicken.

A big, fat chicken.

He had no right to call himself a cat anymore.  Couldn’t even fake it and pretend to be a crow or an owl or anything else.  He couldn’t even claim with pride that he was a rooster to at least preserve that tiny little scrap of masculinity he had been clinging too.

No, he was a chicken.  Because he couldn’t even kiss his own boyfriend.

It wasn’t like Yamamoto didn’t _want_ to, because hell yeah he wanted to finally kiss the boy he’d been dating for two whole months.  He probably wouldn’t even have realized he had a crush on Fukunaga if it hadn’t been for that uncomfortable moment when he discovered that he just really wanted to kiss the quiet boy.  Fukunaga had fallen asleep on his shoulder during a bus ride home, and Yamamoto tried to convince himself that the butterflies in his stomach was actually carsickness.  But he was a chicken then, and he was a chicken now.

All he had to do was reach out and go for it.  And really, he didn’t even have to reach because Fukunaga was sitting right there.  Right beside him on the couch with a bowl of popcorn in his lap as they watched a movie.  Sure Fukunaga’s mom was in the kitchen making them dinner, but he could sneak in a quick one before she walked through the living room again.

Fukunaga had thin lips.  Not bad lips, just thin.  Yamamoto first noticed them when Fukunaga fell asleep on his shoulder.  It was a weird thing to notice as he looked back on it.  Maybe he should’ve noticed the fact that Fukunaga’s eyebrows were weirdly spacey, like they were growing back after he got into a bad argument with a razor. On even that Fukunaga had rice on his shirt from when he stuffed a whole rice ball in his face immediately after sitting down on the bus.

But no, he had to notice his lips.  The lips that were almost always chapped because Fukunaga always lost his chapstick somewhere between home and school.  The lips Fukunaga always covered with his hands when he laughed.  The lips that looked a lot fuller when Fukunaga pouted, as he was doing now.

Yamamoto wanted to crawl out of his own skin and die when he realized he had been caught staring.  Fukunaga lifted an eyebrow at him, questioning what he was doing as Yamamoto fumbled around in his brain, looking for something to say. 

He could still just do it. 

His brain was even telling him to just go for it when he noticed Fukunaga lean his head just the slightest bit closer, almost as if Fukunaga was anticipating it as well.

It would just be so easy, just to steal a quick kiss.

Instead, Yamamoto ends up jabbing Fukunaga in the cheek with one boney finger.

Fukunaga gasped and Yamamoto stuttered out a quick apology, swearing that he didn’t mean to go in that hard.  There was a fly! A fly landing on Fukunaga’s cheek and he needed to swat it away, but he just went too hard.  Not like he chickened out at the last minute, nearly punched his boyfriend in the face, and then lied about it.

Fukunaga sighed, patting the top of his head to put an end to Yamamoto’s endless apology. When Yamamoto lifted his head from where he tucked it against Fukunaga’s shoulder in his embarrassment, Fukunaga was watching him closely (as he always did when Yamamoto was acting weird).  Fukunaga’s unblinking gaze unnerved him, because Yamamoto knew his boyfriend was breaking down even the smallest expression on his face to figure out what he was thinking.  The slight furrow between Fukunaga’s brows was almost enough to make Yamamoto want to try again, just to get Fukunaga to stop looking at him like that. 

Though like all chickens, Yamamoto is given a way out in the form of Fukunaga’s mother _finally_ calling them for dinner.

They didn’t get a chance to be alone for the rest of the night, and maybe that was for the best.  If Fukunaga’s mother hadn’t hung around while they finished their movie, Yamamoto probably would’ve ended up head butting Fukunaga on accident the next time he wussed out of kissing him.  And while he could survive poking Fukunaga’s face so hard they both had to catch themselves, a full on head butt situation is not one Yamamoto wanted to endure.

At the end of his visit, Fukunaga walked him out, shutting the front door of his home behind them so they could have at least one more moment of semi-privacy before the school week started.  Sundays had become their usual date and hang out day, and it was spent more often than not at Fukunaga’s home to avoid Yamamoto’s nosey sister.

Yamamoto shifted nervously from foot to foot as he waited for Fukunaga to turn back towards him after closing the door.  He was worried that Fukunaga would somehow bring up the botched kiss from earlier.  It wasn’t the first failure, Yamamoto was ashamed to say.  No, he had been playing this odd back and forth of burning desire to cold embarrassment for a good few weeks now, and he was sure Fukunaga was almost as irritated as he was about the situation.

“How’s your cheek? Sorry again for swatting the fly so hard, Fuku.”

Fukunaga rolled his eyes as he cupped his cheek around his hand.  Yamamoto wasn’t exactly sure what Fukunaga meant by the gesture but he simply nodded in response because yep, Fukunaga’s cheek was definitely still attached to his face.

“Does it still hurt?”

Fukunaga paused for a moment, his entire being radiating the idea that that was a dumb question.  ‘Of course it doesn’t still hurt’, is what his shoulders said as Fukunaga shrugged, but he contradicted himself by holding his fingers about a centimeter apart. ‘Just a little bit.’

Yamamoto pressed his hands against the side of his head in distress, not quite catching the first subtleties of Fukunaga’s body language. “Oh man I’m sorry!”

Fukunaga shrugged again, this one more of a roll as he brushed off Yamamoto’s over eager concern.  He took a step closer, so Yamamoto could clearly see him tapping his cheek with his index finger.

_‘Make it better.’_

Yamamoto’s mouth rounded into an ‘oh’ as he realized what Fukunaga was asking of him.  It was his chance. Yamamoto steadied himself, gingerly taking a step forward as he thought ‘ _redeem yourself, Taketora’._

But maybe the best way to do that wasn’t by kissing his own fingertips and softly touching them to Fukunaga’s cheek.  But he couldn’t take it back as Fukunaga watched him with genuine confusion as Yamamoto took a step away.

Yamamoto laughed nervously as he squeaked out in a rather effeminate pitch “That should make it better!”

Fukunaga could only nod as Yamamoto jumped down the couple steps off his front stoop, quickly jogging down the walkway to the street.  He waved an arm over his head as he departed, shouting that he’d see Fukunaga at school the next day without giving his boyfriend a proper goodbye.

Fukunaga touched his fingers against the side of his face as he watched Yamamoto go, trying to compose himself before going back inside to his mother.  When Yamamoto was out of his line of sight, Fukunaga dropped his hand and rolled his shoulders before heading back inside.

Yamamoto sure could be weird sometimes.  He wasn’t really sure what the big deal was, but Yamamoto kept moving away each time Fukunaga was sure he was finally going to get a real kiss.  The first few times Yamamoto did that, Fukunaga was truly hurt.  He thought that maybe Yamamoto didn’t really like him as much as he always claimed to.

But no, that wasn’t right.  Fukunaga knew Yamamoto liked him.  If he didn’t like him, Yamamoto would never have gone through all the trouble to get Fukunaga to reciprocate his feelings in the first place.

(And it wasn’t like Fukunaga hadn’t already reciprocated Yamamoto’s feelings from long before Yamamoto confessed, it was just fun to see how far Yamamoto would go to get him to date him.  Fukunaga had never really had someone _like_ him before, and he had enjoyed the wooing more than he’d ever admit.)

Fukunaga also knew Yamamoto liked him from all the moments he _had_ actually managed to plant a kiss on him.  Those kisses came when Yamamoto wasn’t completely overthinking it, or when he thought Fukunaga wasn’t looking.  It really seemed like the only kiss Yamamoto seemed to worry himself into a fit over was an actual, full on kiss.  Because he didn’t have a problem planting one on him any other time.

Like the time Fukunaga had fallen asleep on his shoulder on the bus.  It had been a long series of games with an out of town rival.  Fukunaga couldn’t help but use Yamamoto’s meaty shoulder as a headrest after shoving his dinner into his mouth.  He was exhausted, and Yamamoto was his only available pillow, so it worked well enough.

But only well enough because Yamamoto could never sit still.  Maybe Fukunaga hadn’t noticed it before because they had never been in such close physical proximity with each other, but as soon as he sat his head on Yamamoto’s shoulder, he didn’t stop moving until they pulled up to their school later that night.

Fukunaga had been tired enough to grab a few minutes of shut eye before Yamamoto’s squirming got to be too much for him, so he simply spent the rest of the trip with his eyes closed, still using the other boy as a pillow. He had hadn’t noticed Yamamoto staring at him, as Yamamoto claimed to do when he recounted the first time he realized he had feelings for Fukunaga.

But Fukunaga had been awake to notice the kiss pressed against his hair as their teammates snoozed around them.

It wasn’t a particularly special kiss.  Yamamoto had gotten the nervous hiccups afterwards, and had to turn his face towards the window for the rest of the trip home.  But it had still made his heartbeat speed up as he clenched his hands tighter into the sleeves of his coat.  He would’ve smiled, but he knew that would give him away and Yamamoto would wake up the entire bus by trying to explain away the ‘accident’.  To this day, Fukunaga still kept his knowledge of this little kiss to himself.  He knew if he ever confessed that he was awake to feel the kiss, it would just put them back another few steps because Yamamoto would get embarrassed because he got caught.

But what puzzled Fukunaga the most was that Yamamoto generally wasn’t shy with any other means of affection.  After revealing their relationship to their friends and teammates, he had no problem holding Fukunaga’s hand or hugging him when others were around. 

It reminded him of the night they stood in line until past midnight to buy a video game that Yamamoto was _desperate_ to own.  He had even convinced Fukunaga that there was absolutely no way he could wait until morning because they would all be sold out.  (He was right on that part, but he still owed Fukunaga at least two early morning trips to get his favorite breakfast).

To keep themselves warm as the sun went down, Yamamoto had plastered himself onto Fukunaga’s back.  He wrapped his arms around Fukunaga’s waist and propped his chin on Fukunaga’s shoulders as they swayed back and forth to keep their body temperatures up.  Fukunaga was slightly taller than Yamamoto, but their position was still comfortable enough for them to stand in line together for a couple more hours.  Yamamoto had already finished regaling him with the entire tale of what the video game series was about.  Fukunaga liked games himself, but not exactly the kinds that Yamamoto enjoyed.  But still, he liked to see his man happy, so he gladly indulged him from time to time when all Yamamoto wanted to do was talk about the achievements he had just won in his latest purchase.

It had been a cold, windy night, so it was no surprise to Fukunaga when Yamamoto tucked his face down against his shoulder, warming up his cheeks and nose against his coat.  Fukunaga laughed as Yamamoto rubbed his face against his back, nuzzling against him just like the cat that he is.  Yamamoto squeezed his belly tighter, his chest rumbling with a chuckle that Fukunaga could almost describe as a purr.  Even if he was miserable standing out in the cold, waiting for a game he wasn’t particularly excited about, he was still content as a kitten to spend the night with his boyfriend.

Yamamoto was obviously content as well, still happily rubbing his face along the back of Fukunaga’s shoulder.  Fukunaga had almost gotten used to the sensation before the movements got a little more focused.  Small pecks littered the top of Fukunaga’s right shoulder, accompanied by the soft smacks of Yamamoto kissing him over his jacket.  His cheeks were already red with windburn, but a pleasant, heavy happiness settled in his tummy as he covered Yamamoto’s hands with his own.

It took Yamamoto a few minutes to realize what he had done.  Not like it had been anything bad. Fukunaga doubted anyone saw, and if they had, he doubted he would care.  But Yamamoto stopped their rocking as the realization sank in, tightly holding Fukunaga while he hoped that he hadn’t noticed.

“Tora?”  Fukunaga’s soft voice barely cut through the chatter of the midnight crowd around them, but it was still loud enough to reach Yamamoto’s ears.

“I didn’t do anything!” Yamamoto’s response was quick and entirely too loud.  Those who hadn’t noticed their displays of affection before hastily turned around to see who had just shouted, and Yamamoto dropped his head back down onto Fukunaga’s shoulder.

With a sigh, Fukunaga began swaying them again, using his hips to bump Yamamoto until he followed his lead.  Yamamoto reluctantly picked up his feet, slowly synching up with Fukunaga until they were back at their old dance to keep warm.  Yamamoto was still being shy, not lifting his head until Fukunaga asked how his sister was since their last game.

There was nothing that could get Yamamoto talking like asking about his sister Akane.  Sure, he bemoaned the fact that she was so noisy, and that she never ever left them alone whenever he brought Fukunaga over to hang out.  But Yamamoto was easily one of the most caring siblings Fukunaga had ever known.  He doted on his little sister almost as much as Akane looked up to him, and Fukunaga was honestly a little jealous at times that he was an only child.  Not so much when Akane popped her head in seconds before Yamamoto psyched himself up enough to kiss him.  But sometimes, he wished he had a companion in a younger sibling just because of the way Yamamoto and Akane interacted.

Yamamoto was caring overall though.  He was a great boyfriend in Fukunaga’s opinion, despite the things other people might consider flaws.  He was loud yes, but usually only because he was passionate about what he was talking about.  He was abrasive because he doesn’t think before he speaks, but Fukunaga always found that kind of charming.  In a way… Sometimes Yamamoto said dumb things that accidently hurt his feelings, but his lack of a filter was also what caused Yamamoto to confess in the first place.  But god, overall, he was more than anything Fukunaga imagined.

If Fukunaga was sore after a hard day at practice, Yamamoto noticed, and helped to soothe his muscles with a nice shoulder massage.  If Fukunaga was tired, Yamamoto let him nap on his side during lunch, despite the giggles and stares that normally embarrassed him.  But most importantly, if Fukunaga was sad or upset, Yamamoto noticed. 

It wasn’t easy being Fukunaga’s friend. Or at least, he suspected it wasn’t easy.  He realized that some people may not want to put up with someone who hardly talked, and even some of his current friends said they had a hard time telling when Fukunaga was less than okay.  But not Yamamoto.  He seemed to be at Fukunaga’s side the moment his shoulders slumped in defeat, or when his back tensed when he was in pain.

Yamamoto seemed to be the only one to realize during a match a couple of weeks ago that Fukunaga had nearly hurt himself at the end of a set.  Everyone else simply stood around, waiting for their coach’s next instruction, while Yamamoto jogged over to where he was standing on the sidelines, staring at a big, red welt forming on the inside of his arm.

“That was a tough block you just took there, Fuku. You okay?” 

Fukunaga rolled his wrist, making sure it wasn’t sprained before he nodded.  He was fine, it would just hurt to get hit there a second time during this match.  But with the rate things were going, they’d only have the second set to go until victory, so Fukunaga wasn’t concerned.

At least, nowhere near as concerned as his perpetually overzealous boyfriend.  Tora was right on his side as soon as he drained his bottle of water, staring intently at Fukunaga’s cradled arm like a mother dog watching her new puppies.   Fukunaga sighed and let his arm be pulled away from his stomach when Yamamoto demanded to see his ‘injury’.

Fukunaga shivered as Yamamoto lightly brushed his fingers over the red skin, muttering to himself that it would probably bruise later.  Fukunaga frowned to himself as he imagined the ice Yamamoto would make him put on his arm later, completely caught off guard by the rough press of Yamamoto’s lips on his inner forearm.

If Fukunaga made a sound in his surprise, no one could’ve heard it over the loud “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TAKETORA-SAN?” coming from Lev’s general direction.  Fukunaga felt his cheeks go pink as his arm dropped back to his side, and he really just wished the ref would blow the whistle again to call them back to the last set. He was doing infinitely better than Yamamoto who looked as if all of his body’s blood had made it way up to his head as he tried to come up with some sort of excuse for what he had been doing.  Lev’s pestering didn’t let up until the second set began, and even then, Yamamoto was still visibly distressed that the entire stadium could’ve seen him try to kiss away the pain in Fukunaga’s arm.

After two missed receives and a botched spike, Fukunaga knew he had to do something to bring Yamamoto’s mind back to the game.  Sure, Fukunaga was shaken up as well, but he had always been infinitely more skilled at controlling his emotions that Yamamoto.

As Yamamoto was picking himself up off the ground, cursing to himself over how shitty his last receive was, Fukunaga made his way to the other boy’s side.   Fukunaga clapped his shoulder as he stood, hoping to slap him out of it long enough to finish the match.   Fukunaga leaned in to whisper “It’s okay” before moving back to his spot to wait for the next serve.

Fukunaga knew he made a mistake as soon as assumed his position and turned around slightly to check on Yamamoto.  With his mouth hanging wide open and a deep shade of red covering his whole face, he pointed an accusatory finger towards Fukunaga.   Fukunaga raised an eyebrow in order to ask what was wrong, but before Yamamoto could’ve had time to recognize the familiar expression, he was already shouting.

“YOU FINALLY TALKIN ISN’T GOING TO HELP ME RIGHT NOW, FUKUNAGA!”

Yamamoto was always so noisy, and Fukunaga couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.  His boyfriend had nearly had a card pulled on him that game, but after a brief time out of the game to get his head back on straight, Yamamoto was able to come back and help them secure their victory.

Fukunaga sighed to himself as he tried to pick apart the pieces of Yamamoto’s personality, looking for one thing that would hopefully explain why Yamamoto kept backing away any time he got remotely close to initiating a kiss.  Fukunaga didn’t think it was something he was doing, because he really tried his hardest to make sure he didn’t block Yamamoto off when he was feeling affectionate. 

Fukunaga had to admit that Yamamoto was often like this.  He talked a big game before psyching himself out enough to flub even his best attempts.  But when he was really ready for something, he did it splendidly, almost perfectly in the best situations.  Maybe it took a few tries, maybe it took a while to build up his confidence and just go for it.  But Fukunaga accepted this part of Yamamoto, embraced it even.  It wasn’t often that he moved at a pace faster than someone like Yamamoto, but all of the attempts, and subsequent failures of kisses, gave Fukunaga a lot of sweet memories that reminded him of all of the little things that he loved about him.

If he had to wait another week for their next date, or even another month or a whole year before Yamamoto was confident enough to kiss him… that was fine.  He’d wait for as long as it took for Yamamoto to be ready, and look forward to it each time Yamamoto kissed another, more innocent part of his skin.

\-----

Another week of school brought them back to their next Sunday date.  Yamamoto did his best not to avoid Fukunaga like he so desperately wanted to.  Fukunaga greeted him as always with that sweet little smile he had when he saw Yamamoto each morning, and he couldn’t bring himself to stay away for long.  Fukunaga was kind enough to not bring up the incident with the cheek pat from the previous weekend (not like Yamamoto really expected him to; it was just nice to be able to say that he didn’t do it), and they survived the rest of the week with no major incidents.

Sunday afternoon found them smushed into the back corner of a crowded movie theatre.  They had been waiting for this movie to come out for months, but hadn’t really accounted for the swarm of other people that they’d have to deal with at a weekend show.  Fukuanga was seated against the wall so he didn’t get too overwhelmed by the crowd, and Yamamoto was pressed as close as he could be to his side with the immovable armrest between them. Fukunaga held their hands together in his lap, rubbing the fingers of his free hand over Yamamoto’s knuckles.

The movie was as good as they expected it to be, and they waited until the credits rolled to the end as they always did.  One reason they waited was to give time for the others in the crowd time to file out before tripping out of the too tight aisle. Another was to make absolutely sure that there were no special extras after the main credits, or else Fukunaga would pout for the rest of the day that they had missed the most important part of the whole film.

While they waited for the couple sitting to their right to move, Yamamoto absentmindedly pulled their linked hands onto the armrest between them. He propped his chin on top of their hands, ignoring the slight tinge of pain as the rough edges of the armrest digging into his elbow. Faking a contemplative, thoughtful face, Yamamoto watched Fukunaga out of the corner of his eye.

“Interesting film. Aye, Shouhei?”

Fukunaga laughed at the use of his given name, noticing the slight blush on Yamamoto’s cheeks even in the dim theatre lighting. He chose to ignore it in favor of giving Yamamoto’s fingers a tight squeeze to try and get him to smile.

And smile he did.  Eyes bright and lips stretched wide across his face, Yamamoto watched Fukunaga across the small gap before pulling their hands to his mouth.  Yamamoto gently kissed each of Fukunaga’s fingers, almost as if he wasn’t really thinking about it.  Fukunaga smiled as Yamamoto pressed his lips against the back of his hand, enjoying the attention before Yamamoto realized what he was doing.

Fukunaga tried to pull their hands towards himself to repeat the gesture on Yamamoto’s fingers, but before is lips even got close, Yamamoto froze and pulled their hands back towards his side.

“What are you doing, Fuku?”

Fukunaga pouted at the return of his nickname, but still decided to answer Yamamoto out loud for once as he noted that the couple beside them had left. “Kiss?”

“Okay? But why?”  Yamamoto looked genuinely confused as if he really didn’t know why his own boyfriend would want to kiss him.

Fukunaga yanked Yamamoto’s hand, pulling it towards himself as he managed to steal one quick kiss on the inside of his palm.   Yamamoto’s hand was significantly sweatier than it had been for the entire movie, giving away the nervousness he tried to poorly hide. “I want to.”

Yamamoto let his mouth gape open like a fish gasping for air as Fukunaga let his hand fall.  After a moment of confused of silence, Yamamoto snapped his mouth shut. “But _why_?”

With a sigh, Fukunaga leaned forward, grabbing Yamamoto by his cheeks as he did so.  He felt Yamamoto’s skin burning under his hands, warming his hands as he continued to lean closer. “Don’t be so scared, Tora.”

Yamamoto nodded sharply as he wet his lips quickly with his tongue. Fukunaga couldn’t help but grin at that as he closed the gap between them, pressing a nice, full kiss to Yamamoto’s forehead.  It wasn’t a particularly long kiss, and Fukunaga got the opportunity to press a quick peck to the tip of Yamamoto’s nose, and the red skin of his cheek as he pulled his hands away.

When he was satisfied that he had made his point, Fukunaga stood up to see that they were the only ones left in the theatre.  The credits were still rolling, speeding up as they got to the part no one really cared to read.  Holding a hand out to Yamamoto, he pulled him out of his seat, and pressed his hands against the other boy’s shoulder until he finally stepped out into the aisle.  Fukunaga was ready to leave, already moving towards the exit when he felt Yamamoto grab his hand.

Turning back around, Fukunaga saw Yamamoto with the most perturbed look on his face.  Yamamoto was no deep thinker, and Fukunaga had clearly confused him with his actions. He waited a few moments with an eyebrow raised, waiting for whatever question Yamamoto had on the tip of his tongue.

“I thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Fukunaga nodded slowly, knowing he still needed his words to make Yamamoto understand. “I did.”

“But I thought it was gonna be like…a real kiss.” Yamamoto touched a couple fingers to his lips to demonstrate what he meant, and Fukunaga couldn’t help but laugh.

Ignoring the annoyed huff from Yamamoto, Fukunaga quickly shook his head.  “When you’re ready.”

Fukunaga could practically hear the gears grinding in Yamamoto’s head as he thought over what Fukunaga was saying to him.  When it finally clicked into place, Yamamoto’s eyes widened with an “oh.”

Tugging Yamamoto forward by their linked hands that still hung between them, Fukunaga stole a quick hug before pulling them towards the exit. As soon as they left, theatre workers surged behind them to clean up the cinema before the next show.  The stood in the hallway for a moment as they rebooted their phones, joined hands still swinging happily between them.

“It’s gonna be the best you know.”

Fukunaga gave Yamamoto a curious look, wondering what it could be his nervous, energetic boyfriend could be going on about this time.

“I mean when we kiss for real.  I’m going to make sure it’s the best.”

Fukunaga smiled and squeezed Yamamoto’s hand, knowing he’s telling the truth.  Yamamoto is smiling to himself as well, biting down on his bottom lip with a grin as he checks his phone.  Fukunaga is about to do the same to make sure his mom didn’t try to call him while they were in the movie when he hears the sound of unknown extras playing after the credits finally came to an end.

Yamamoto feels the too tight squeeze on his fingers, and quickly pulls Fukunaga out the lobby of the cinema when he sees him looking longingly back theatre doors.  Fukunaga groans pathetically and tries to dig his heels into the tacky red patterned carpet, but eventually lets himself be dragged outside.  Yamamoto is grinning as he wraps an arm around Fukunaga’s shoulders once the afternoon sun hits their skin, pressing a quick kiss to the silent boy’s cheek without hesitation.

And instead of nervous doubts of failed kisses or embarrassing mishaps, the only thoughts flowing through Yamamoto’s head is ‘ _Shouhei’s the best.’_

**Author's Note:**

> I'd really been wanting to write ToraFuku for a while, and my friend Kat and I have been talking alot about the early stages of their relationship. Normally, when we ship Fuku with someone, he's the last to really want to get down to business and get physical, but its a nice change of pace when Tora's the one too worked up to make a move. I had alot of fun writing this one, and I really hope you enjoyed it Winny!


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